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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739888">red is for my heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee'>emilieee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Humor, Knitting, Post Reveal, Scarf Reveal, ladrien, ladrien dates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:53:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilieee/pseuds/emilieee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With his date with Ladybug set in nine hours, Adrien scrambles to prepare a gift for her. </p>
<p>Knitting just isn't his forté, but fortunately, Ladybug loves whatever it is he makes. </p>
<p>(Even if the scarf ends up as a piece of string.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>red is for my heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Adrien’s going to knit Ladybug a scarf in return even if it kills him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Experience tells him it’s high time to put down the needle and yarn; his bedside clock flickers from 1:23 AM to 1:24. The only thing he’s managed to accomplish is break one of the knitting needles, piss Plagg off (thus why his desktop screen is the only source of light in the room; everything else has been extinguished so his kwami can sleep in peace), and stab himself in the fingers until there are at least five pinpricks. The scarf—or what </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be the scarf—still sits as a tangled ball of yarn. It’s high-quality yarn; the most expensive one in the store, a shade of bright crimson that matches the vibrancy of Ladybug’s suit. The yarn is perfect. Adrien, on the other hand, is not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stifling his yawn, Adrien replays the first bit of the video. The girl doing the tutorial makes it look infuriatingly easy, but every time he attempts to follow, it simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t work. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little ways over on his desk lies the scarf that he now knows was made by Marinette, sitting there as a demo of what <em>his </em>should look like as well. It’s a soft blue, feather light to the tough and woven immaculately, without a single string out of place. In the very corner of the scarf is Marinette’s signature, sewn carefully and inconspicuously with a slightly darker shade of blue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the exact scarf Nathalie tried to pass off as his father’s gift. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three days ago, the thought had filled him with burning anger, and he’d been a breath away from confronting his father. Now, the only thing is a numbing sort of disappointment, one he happily ignores in favor of better things—such as the fact that Marinette made him the scarf, that Marinette is Ladybug, and that he, Adrien Agreste—Chat Noir—is going on a date with Ladybug the next morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If, that is, he can complete the scarf. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl in the tutorial, movements slowed to half the speed, is once again demonstrating how to loop the knitting needle through the yarn. Adrien follows her exact steps, only to end up with a knot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans a little too loudly. From the bed, Plagg lets out an indignant noise. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>up?” his kwami demands grouchily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien hastily clamps his mouth shut. Plagg </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>being woken up. “Sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of going back to sleep, Plagg zips over the room to sit down on Adrien’s monitor. “You need to go to sleep,” he commands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien holds up his tangle of yarn. “I’m not done.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You probably won’t be even if you don’t sleep,” comes the dry reply. “Face it, kid, you’re not cut out for this stuff. Your fingers are too clumsy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I literally play piano!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He receives an unimpressed look in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Adrien relents. “I know I’m not good at this, but it can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard, right? Marinette has made me mittens, scarves, berets, gloves—if she can knit all that, how hard can a </span>
  <em>
    <span>scarf</span>
  </em>
  <span> be?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hard enough for you to spend six hours and show no noticeable progress. That yarn was actually better rolled up. Now it’s useless.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The yarn isn’t for you, Plagg!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plagg heaves a long-suffering groan. “You have a date with the girl of your dreams at ten in the morning, which is in—oh, would </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at that—eight and a half hours. If you’re going to wake up at seven thirty like you planned, then you best get some sleep now unless you want to show up in front of Ladybug looking like a zombie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like usual, Plagg is right. Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>to miraculously master knitting in the next ten minutes, if he wants the scarf to be an acceptable, wearable length, it’s going to be at least another four hours. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to do is show up in front of Ladybug with three hours of sleep. It's a travesty either way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Adrien finally agrees. “You sleep first. I’ll go to bed in another fifteen minutes.” </span>
</p>
<p>(Fifteen minutes becomes an hour, then two, then three before Adrien finally gives up.) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Red clashes with </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or at least it does now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marinette is late due to the extra thirty minutes she’d spent trying to figure out an outfit that doesn’t look completely ridiculous over her Ladybug costume. Everything—no matter </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>she tries—looks ugly. At some point, Sabine had heard her breakdown, and Marinette’s mad scramble to detransform shattered a lamp in the process. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, rushing to the meeting spot she and Adrien had agreed on, Marinette’s worked herself into another panic. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a date, it’s a date, IT’S A DATE—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spots him on the bench. Dressed in a long beige overcoat with that godawful scarf she’d knit him one year ago (how he managed to make that bright blue go with his clothes is beyond Marinette, but she’s not complaining—he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Adrien lifts his eyes when she swings down next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stare at each other in charged silence until Marinette’s certain her cheeks have turned a shade of red that matches the crimson of her suit. “S-sorry,” she stammers. “I was running a bit behind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien shoots to his feet. “It’s okay,” he reassures, and Marinette realizes that his cheeks are dusted pink as well. “You’re not that late. I’ve only been here for forty minutes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mortification floods through her. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Forty?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Marinette nearly screeches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes widen. “I was in the area early! It’s—um, I mean I—” He breaks off, shakes his head, and reaches into his bag. “I made this for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She manages to look past her own embarrassment to follow Adrien’s hand, where he holds something in his open palm. A flash of red—a ribbon? A string? Marinette takes a step closer to get a better look at it, but before she can, Adrien closes his palm and hurriedly tucks his hands behind his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to make you a scarf,” he admits in a quiet voice. “Especially since you’ve made me so many things already.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She points at his hand. “Was that… the scarf?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien shakes his head quickly. “No. That was a friendship bracelet—I mean, a relationship bracelet? Um, I don’t know what to call it. Anyway, I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to make you a scarf, but…I’m not that great of a knitter, it turns out.” He peers up at her with those bright green eyes, wide and sincere. “So I made the friendship—uh, relationship—bracelet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marinette’s going to melt. She’s going to melt into a puddle then and there, because it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculously </span>
  </em>
  <span>sweet and she’s going to burst at the seams. “Thank you,” she breathes, lightheaded from giddiness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And the scarf,” Adrien continues. He pulls his leather bag to his chest and opens the flap. “Looks like this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls out a single string of yarn, then continues pulling and pulling until he ends up with a pile of tangled red yarn at his feet. When he finally reaches the end—had he stuffed the whole ball of yarn into his bag?—he opens one hand and gives her a weak grin. “Ta-da, the scarf.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marinette stares at the puddle of red next to his feet. Then she looks at Adrien, the lopsided, wobbly grin hanging on his lips. Then she bursts out laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>for being so sweet and funny and amazing and </span>
  </em>
  <span>stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Marinette wheezes out between giggles. “I’ll loop that around my neck and wear it right now. It’ll be quite the fashion statement.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien seems to have gotten over a bit of his own nervousness, because his lips lift into a slightly larger smile. “If anyone could pull it off, it’d be you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They share another laugh, the atmosphere lighter than before, before Adrien starts stuffing the yarn back into his bag, tangling it beyond repair. Marinette tries to fight back her grin, but fails when he finally lifts his head and meets her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Can someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile </span>
  </em>
  <span>with their eyes? Because Adrien Agreste does, pure and simple. She can see the joy and mirth and </span>
  <em>
    <span>life </span>
  </em>
  <span>dancing behind the emerald green, and it’s beautiful. Her brain is in overdrive; </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>on a date with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here.” He extends his hand again, the self-prescribed ‘relationship bracelet’ resting on his palm. “I know it’s not much, M’lady, but do what you want with it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marinette extends her own hand to him. “I’d like to wear it, then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His entire expression brightens. Then, gingerly, Adrien picks up her wrist and wraps the bracelet around carefully, tying it so it’s not suffocatingly tight, but snug enough for Marinette to feel it through the suit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it,” she tells him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Adrien lets out an embarrassed laugh. “It’s kind of ugly, to be honest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Insult my bracelet again and I’ll make sure you regret it. I’m never taking it off. It matches my suit, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Red for my heart,” he replies. “Which is now yours, M’lady.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marinette’s face probably matches the bracelet as well, but the delivery of the line is annoyingly perfect, and the butterflies fluttering in her stomach have transformed into a horde of stampeding elephants. Adrien’s face has turned slightly red as well, but he’s definitely taking it better than she is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the longest moment, they stare at each other. Marinette wonders if he can feel or see her happiness, which she’s sure is positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>brimming </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of her. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s been smiling, but it's the best sort of pain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plagg finally interrupts the staring. In a blur of black, he shoots out of Adrien’s pocket and situates himself directly in front of their faces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This great and all,” he complains in a voice that suggests nothing is 'great', “but if you’re going to stare into each other’s eyes for the entirety of this date, then I’m going </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a laugh and an affectionate flick at his kwami’s ears, Adrien offers her his arm. “You heard our chaperone,” he jokes. “Shall we, Marinette?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr at <a href="https://e-milieeee.tumblr.com/">e-milieeee!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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